


Standing on the edge, here.

by fuuckya



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Blood Play, Gay Sex, Homophobia, Kinda, Male Slash, Marking, Murder Kink, Porn With Plot, Road Trips, Serial Killer, Stockholm Syndrome, Warning: Murder, warning: death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-04 08:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuuckya/pseuds/fuuckya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry falls in love with Louis, a cross-country serial killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to put this story in parts/chapters, because it will motivate me to finish it, and it's more dramatic this way - I hope.
> 
> Warnings: mentions of death, beatings and the act of murder.
> 
> I do not know anything about America -or its Geography. Please ignore any of the little inaccuracies with both time and space. Don’t dwell on the little loose ends that I have forgotten to go back and fix. Excuse the grammar and punctuation mistakes.
> 
> Also note that this is completely fiction, and some things may seem a little far fetched.
> 
> Inspired by ‘Dexter’ and Katy Perry’s ‘Unconditionally’. 
> 
> Please enjoy :)

Harry’s staring out across the vast void of land before him, wondering where the hell in nowhere they are. They’re somewhere out in the middle of the desert, probably in the center of America, but he’s not really sure. He’s never been very good at geography, especially not of a country that he only knows in movies, a land that is otherwise foreign to him.

It’s hot outside. So hot outside that air dances in waves across the line of the horizon, the burnt colour of the sand blurs and distorts until it looks like he’s staring at nothing.

He’s leaning against the side of the car, shirt sticking to his shoulders and he wonders if Louis will let him steal a cigarette. He’ll wait until they’ve left the gas station to light it, of course, when they’re on the road again, wind in his hair.

Louis’ checking under the engine and he’s clanging around under the propped up hood, he’s humming to himself, a song that Harry doesn’t recognise, and he wipes the sweat from his brow when Louis shuts the hood with a thud.

‘I think I want some ice cream,’ Louis decides, wiping his hands off on his jeans, he looks like an old greaser in a old Hollywood movie, like James Dean or something, ‘It’s fucking hot out here.’ He makes his way over into Harry’s space, crowds into him with his hands on his hips and Harry shivers at the contact. 

They watch each other for a moment, the heat dancing all around them in the otherwise still and quiet. Louis is wearing his aviators that he found in a bar, but Harry can still see, in his mind’s eye, the sparkling clear blue of his eyes, and he thinks of seeing a mirage in the dessert heat. 

Despite the sweltering temperatures, the sweat and the dirt, Harry leans forward to capture Louis’ mouth in a kiss, soft and sweet. They’ve only known each other a few weeks, but Harry’s mind still whirls when they touch, and sometimes he gets too overwhelmed that he has to pull away.

‘Getting dizzy again, love?’ Louis smirks up at him, like he knows, because he does, he always does. Harry thinks they’ve been together for years and years, through many past lives. He likes to think Louis does too.

‘I think I need a drink,’ Harry says, voice low, and brushes Louis mouth in another kiss, ‘I think I’m getting heat stroke.’ 

Louis lets out a little laugh, soft and fond that’s only for Harry, ‘we don’t want that, do we? Let’s go inside.’ He leads Harry by the hand, fingers entwined, palms sweaty, up to the station.

When they get inside they’re not greeted by cold in which they were hoping, instead they get hit in the face with a fan, pushing the hot air around them. Louis leads them to the back of the store where the fridges are kept and studies the selection of ice creams with a small frown. Harry goes to pick out a drink.

He’s deciding whether he wants a regular drink or some strange, novelty American soda when he feels Louis press up behind him, hips to his bum, arms around his middle. Harry can’t help but smile and turn in his embrace, and he is met with Louis' piercing blue eyes, his aviators sit atop his head. ‘Ready to go, darling?’ 

And Harry only smiles wider, and leans down to kiss Louis properly; sliding his tongue into his mouth and opening him up with little licks and swipes. He can feel Louis smiling into the kiss and he pushes up on his toes to get in closer. It’s a lazy type of kiss where nothing really happens, where Louis traces his tongue against Harry’s just to taste him, languid like a summers day. They press in together, despite the crippling heat, and Louis presses the ice cream into the back of Harry’s neck, where his arms are wrapped tight around his shoulders, and the sudden touch of coolness makes Harry pull away with a gasp and a shiver. 

‘Okay, let’s go.’

They get to the counter where a middle aged man is looking at them with a bored expression, like he’d rather be anywhere else but here. Louis greets him with a smile and a cheery hello, Harry dragging behind with pink cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. ‘Did you get something?’ Louis asks, turning to Harry with a quirked eyebrow. 

‘No, I forgot,’ Harry admits sheepishly, smiling giddily when Louis laughs at him, calls him _Silly Billy_ , and taps him on the bum to go and grab a coke. Harry practically skips away, preening at Louis little nickname, and decides on a Mountain Dew because he knows Louis likes it. 

He jumps when he hears two loud bangs go off in succession, and that’s when everything stops. 

When he turns around Louis is standing with a pistol in his hand, ice cream in the other. The man behind the counter is falling down, and blood is splattered on the wall behind him like some fucked up Avant-garde painting. Harry is screaming. 

But he doesn’t realise he’s screaming until Louis is turning towards him, with the barrel of the gun pointing in his direction, motioning with his head towards the car. He says, ‘come on, Harry, let’s go,’ and Harry follows. 

He follows because there’s a ringing in his ears, a fear lighting fires at his feet. He makes himself as small as possible and walks past Louis outside into the heat and sees nothing but a vast, desolate expanse of dirt, nothing and nobody stretching for miles and miles all around him. It dawns on him and he realises with a choked sob that he has nowhere to go. He walks towards the car, Louis close behind and sits inside the passenger side, cowering into the seat. His vision is blurred from his tears, but he can still see Louis walk around the front of the car and into the driver’s seat. He puts the pistol down on the dashboard, just out of Harry’s reach, sitting a wad of cash next to it, and locks the doors. The engine kicks into life, a deafening roar that cuts through the rush in Harry’s ears, and he drives. 

This is where it starts. 

-

It feels like days have passed since they drove away from that gas station in the middle of nowhere. But Harry knows it’s only been a few hours. The sun set a while ago, the sky turning from white to orange, to pink, and finally to black, and they keep driving forward into the center of it. Time gets lost in the night. 

The starts are bright out here in the middle of nowhere, where there is no light pollution to keep them from shining. 

Harry’s tears have stopped hours ago, and he doesn’t think he can cry anymore. The thudding in his head is starting to become a dull ache, like the headaches he used to get when he was younger. Except now he can see clearly, and isn’t clouded by a hazy blanket that his migraines used to give him. He is painfully aware of Louis’ proximity to him, how his hand is resting on his lap and the other on the wheel, close to the gun on the dashboard. Harry’s Mountain Dew is in his lap and he wants so badly to drink it, his mouth has gone dry with shock. His whole body hurts from being taught, but he’s too afraid to move. Too afraid of Louis. 

They pass a sign that says ‘Now Entering New Mexico’. The car is silent but the radio is on, the engine keeps humming quietly and Harry’s too afraid to close his eyes and pray, so he sits there, burning holes in the road before him and waits.

-

They pull up at a small motel, literally in the middle of nowhere, still. Louis moves to take the gun and the money and Harry flinches when he does, his vision going blurry again. 

‘Come on,’ Louis says, and his voice is so soft and it makes Harry’s stomach do summersaults and his heart rate skyrocket. He doesn’t look Louis in the eye when they’re out of the car, just stares at dirt under his feet that is doused in neon light, and follows him into reception. 

The reception room is small and empty, there are soft sounds of people talking, people laughing on the TV out the back, and Harry can see the flicker of the light it casts. 

Louis rings the bell on the counter twice, and the shrill sound makes Harry jump, and he suddenly feels stupid and keeps his head down trying not to cry, ‘Try and look normal,’ Louis hisses at him, there’s a hint of venom in his words, and it’s enough to make Harry’s eyes prick and he blinks furiously to try and get rid of it. 

A woman comes to the counter and greets them. ‘I’d like a room for two,’ Louis says, folding his arms up on the counter, and his shirt rides up and Harry’s eyes bore into the gun that’s stuffed down the back of his pants, ‘one bed will be fine, thanks.’ 

He doesn’t hear much after that, as the world around him shrinks until nearly everything is black. He can hear Louis floaty, gorgeous laugh, and he charms the woman right away, even with blood on his hands. They exchange a few small, friendly words that sound muffled against the blood thrumming in his head.

Next thing he knows he’s being pulled into a small motel room with a double bed. When Louis shuts the door Harry slinks over to the furthest corner and sinks down, knees to his chest and tries to keep himself from falling apart. 

‘Harry,’ Louis says, his voice soft. He appears in Harry’s line of vision as he crouches down before him, and it’s the first time in hours that Harry looks him in the eye. He looks a tired, his eyes a little puffy from staring at straight road for hours on end, but his face is soft and open, just like it always is, and Harry is so overwhelmed with his beauty that he starts to cry. ‘Please don’t cry,’ Louis says, pleadingly, and he touches Harry on the knee with gentle fingers, and Harry violently shifts away from it. 

‘Don’t touch me,’ Harry says, watery, and he lets out a small, anguished sound that has Louis reeling back from him, like it had burned him, ‘don’t touch me, _stay away.’_

‘Harry, stop,’ Louis says, his voice a little more firm, ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ 

Harry sniffles and covers his face with his hands, trying to hide away, wishing so desperately that he was somewhere else. 

He can’t speak anymore, and just lets the sob get ripped from his chest. He’s finding it a little hard to breathe, his breath catching in his throat like painful hiccups. He can still feel Louis right in front of him, like a wall of fire, and he’s choking on the smoke that’s billowing around them. He can’t breathe. 

‘Harry,’ Louis says, and he’s chanting his name through the thick smoke. But Harry squirms in his corner, and longs to be somewhere safe, away from this mess he’s gotten himself into. He’s going to die tonight. 

‘Harry, please stop, I’m not going to kill you.’ Louis keeps saying over and over again, but it only makes Harry cry harder. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. I love you.’ 

‘Fuck off,’ Harry spits, lashing out at Louis with both his hands, and Louis loses balances and falls onto his bum, ‘don’t fucking touch me, _don’t.’_

‘I love you, Harry. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry.’ 

Harry loves Louis so much, so much that it absolutely hurts sometimes. When he says it now, his eyes say it too. And Harry thinks back to the first time Louis told Harry he loved him, it was right after they made love on a small, fold out couch of some bartenders apartment, in some random town. The only light they had was a small, yellow lamp plugged in on the floor next to them. It was a balmy night, the window was open, and they could hear people talking loudly outside on the street below them. 

Louis tasted like cigarettes and alcohol, and his skin was tacky with sweat, and tasted like a mixture of the three. It wasn’t the first time they had has sex, but it was the most beautiful. 

‘I think I’m in love with you,’ Louis had whispered, afraid the men below them on the street would hear them. They were facing each other, legs tangled under the sheet. Harry remembers Louis fingers stroking through his hair, gently tugging on the knots he came across. ‘Is it too early for me to say that?’ 

They had known each other four weeks. Harry had been in love with him since day one. 

‘I think I’m in love with you, too.’ Harry whispered back, and his voice caught in his throat. He moved to cuddle into Louis, pressing his nose into his neck, breathing him in. ‘I’m so happy you said it. I was too scared to say it first.’ 

‘I love you,’ Louis says, and it’s just like the first time he said it. All of the blood in Harry’s head drains away, and he suddenly becomes so dizzy, because Louis sounds exactly the same when he says it. He doesn’t remember when he stopped crying, and he takes a big, steady breath in, and out. Louis is watching him, a look of worry in his eye. 

He leans forward to catch a stray tear on Harry’s cheek, and Harry lets him, letting go of a silent breath that makes his body tremble, when his fingers touch his skin, and his every nerve in his body comes alive. 

‘I love you,’ Harry croaks out, his whole body surrendering, his breathing returning back to normal and he falls into some sort of peaceful Zen, like the fear around him had slipped down a drain at one simple touch of Louis’ fingertips. Louis kisses the teardrop off his thumb and reaches out again for Harry, and this time Harry can see his hands are shaking. The lights outside the motel cover the room in a fluorescent glow, and it reminds Harry of the moon outside the window the first night Louis told him he loved him. 

Louis tangles his hand in Harry’s hair, fingers scratching at the scalp, and it’s just like that night, except it’s so quiet that all Harry can hear his heart beating in his head. 

-

He doesn’t know how he gets into bed, his limbs are so heavy with exhaustion. He curls into a little ball in the center of the bed, helpless and he can feel Louis curl up behind him, their bodies fitting like a lock sliding into place. They’re both still fully clothed, and the curtains are open, letting the lights create shadows around the room. 

Louis’ breathing is steady; his arm is heavy where it’s slung around his waist. Harry starts to drift into sleep not long after, falling away into nothing, and even though he feels like he's being torn in two, in his half asleep state he gives himself completely to Louis.


	2. II.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry falls in love with Louis, a cross-country serial killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! I'm slowly getting back into this fic, whey!
> 
> Don't sit on the mistakes. Read tags for warnings.  
> I do not know anything about America, town names, roads, highways, etc. This is all fictional, kinda - stereotypical, movie-esque, fantasy. I do not own the characters, I do not know anything.
> 
> Enjoy :)

He wakes up the next morning to the sound of the shower running, and the hum of the water slowly clears a path in his mind until he finds the strength to sit up, bleary eyed and lets the world come back to him. 

It’s just like every other motel room he’s woken up in, during his long trip across this vast land, except the air around him feels strange, unsettled. The water in the shower turns off and moments later Louis emerges with a towel around his waist, his torso glistening with water. 

It all hits him at once, like a stinging slap to the face, and everything rushes back to him inside an avalanche. His chest tightens, anxiety clawing at his edges, but it’s more like a warning, a reminder to be wary.

Louis smiles at him, his eyes soft and sleepy and he looks unscathed from the night before, as if it nothing had happened.

‘Morning,’ he beams, sliding over to Harry and pressing kisses to his cheeks, nose and finally his lips, and Harry has to suppress a shiver. Everything has fallen back into place, like it had never been disturbed at all. But Harry knows that it did, can feel it in his bones, can feel the way everything has settled differently around them. 

‘Hi,’ Harry croaks, his voice fatigued from crying and still groggy from sleep. He rubs a hand over his face and tries to wipe away the exhaustion, ‘what time is it?’ ‘It’s almost twelve,’ Louis says, still bending over the bed, his face is right there in front of him, and Harry finds himself reaching out to tug at a piece of hair that’s stuck up awkwardly on the side of his head, easy. He smells like cheap soap and dust that is permanently stuck to his skin. The way his fingers slide into Louis hair, it’s so uncomplicated, familiar, and it grounds Harry in a way that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The tension floods out of him. 

‘You hungry?’ He croaks, fingers slipping through Louis’ damp hair.

Louis shakes his head and pecks Harry once more on the lips, and Harry chases his mouth to kiss him again, because he can’t help himself, 

‘I need a coffee and a fag, and then we can hit the road again.’

‘Where are we going?’ Harry asks, because he always asks, but they don’t know where they’re going.

‘I’m taking you to California babe,’ Louis says easily, as if he had been planning this all along. His eyes shine with mischief and Harry wants to kiss him again and again.

‘I’ve always wanted to go to California,’ Harry croaks, smiling, feeling the fire ignite in his chest. Louis kisses him once of the forehead and turns towards his bags sitting on a chair in the corner. The curtains are still open, sunlight shining in, surrounding Louis like a glow of a halo. Harry knows he’ll look good in California. 

-

He showers under the cold spray, because the heat outside is swirling in the motel room and it’s almost suffocating. He lets the water take his worry, his sins down the drain, and it’s scary how easy it is let it go. There’s no shower curtain in the bathroom, and Harry uses what’s left of the little bottle of soap to wash himself until he feels partially clean, but there is still _something_ stuck to his skin.

Louis is fussing over his hair in the mirror, singing ‘California Dreaming’ under his breath that harmonizes with the hum of the water in the pipes. His voice fills up all the empty crevices that he had carved inside Harry overnight, and it makes him feel somewhat whole again. Harry keeps catching him looking into the mirror, eyes roaming around Harry’s naked body, but there’s no hunger in his eyes, just love. 

-

They pass through another little town that looks like the others before them, the windows are down and the hot air is rolling past them. Louis smokes a cigarette out the window, aviators perched on his nose. The radio is working, and some American country star is singing a song about missing their home, and Harry finds that he cannot relate, not anymore.

They pull over to site-see, and there’s not much to enjoy, but the town is rustic and something so classically American, and Harry feels like a big old tourist, kicking at a lifeless tumbleweed and laughing. Louis has wandered off somewhere, in search of mischief, probably, and Harry is left alone to look around him, take in his surroundings and just breathe in the freedom for a moment. It’s the reason he’s found himself out here, writing down names of towns and crossing them off immediately like he had the intention of visiting them all along, because he needed to try something new, take the road less traveled. 

They stumble across a small diner, the last one out before the start of the open road. Harry isn’t hungry, but he orders a short stack of pancakes with a side of ice cream so Louis doesn’t fuss. Louis orders the full American breakfast and Harry finds himself gobbling down food as if he had been starving, or like he’s trying to cover his sickness. Harry’s limbs are feeling lighter. Louis makes funny faces across the table, and locks their ankles together as they eat. It’s always been like this between them, and Harry hopes it always will.

-

‘I spy with my little eye, something beginning with ‘C’’ 

‘’C?’ um, shit, let me think.’ 

They’re back in the section of the dessert where there is nothing in front of them, and nothing behind. There is nothing out to the sides either, just a line of the horizon where the dirt meets the sky, it’s endless. ‘Um,’ Louis drags out the sound until he’s just humming a single note, and Harry giggles and squeezes their entwined hands resting on Louis’ thigh, impatient. ‘Okay, okay, God. Um, is it a cactus you spy?’ 

Harry lets out a laugh, and bounces up and down in his seat like a child. He feels happy and naive like a child anyway. His seat belt is off, he giggles over the static radio, ‘Correct!’ 

‘There are no cactus around here!’ Louis says, sounding offended, ‘there is literally nothing out here!’ and Harry scoffs at him, 

‘There was a bunch of cacti when I picked it,’ he pouts, and he pushes his feet up into the dashboard, knees pressed to his chest and slides his legs forward until the toes of his shoes touch the windshield. He’s getting cramped sitting in the small box of a car, and Louis keeps shifting around like he feels the same. 

‘Is there a group name for cacti? A school of cacti? A family of cacti?’ Louis rattles off different names and Harry listens and laughs, studying his profile, the slope of his nose and the way his hair is caught in the wind rushing past them. He’s beautiful, and it’s breathtaking. His cigarette is long gone, a burnt out nub on the road many miles behind them. 

Louis can feel him staring, and when he looks over Harry blows him a kiss, ‘what?’ 

‘Nothing,’ Harry says, dropping his head back against the headrest of the chair, still watching him, ‘just admiring you.’ 

They drive for a moment in silence, before Louis puts his indicator on and detaches their hands. He slows down, pulls off the road and the tires crunch to a halt in the dirt and sand. He’s on Harry then, leaning over the gear box to attack his mouth with kisses, soft kisses that turn dirty, his tongue wet in his mouth, sliding his hands into his hair to pull. 

‘Come on,’ he growls, gets out the car and Harry follows suit, rounding the front where Louis is and is pushed into the hood of the car, half sitting down on the burning metal. Louis presses into him, shoves his way between his legs and licks back into his mouth. His hands are tight on Harry’s waist, his hips pushing and pivoting, their crotches grinding together until Harry is half hard in his jeans. He moans softly when Louis moves to suck on his neck, nipping and abusing the flesh there, until the blood is rushing to the surface, until it stings. 

‘Fuck, Lou,’ Harry whines, dropping his head back so Louis has more room to work on his neck, marking him like an animal. It’s hot in the direct sunlight, and Harry’s hips are working helplessly as Louis takes him apart with his teeth on his pulse point. He needs to get out of his clothes now before he burns up like the sun. 

Louis is painfully slow and thorough as he works up Harry’s neck, biting and kissing his way up to attach their mouths again. His kiss tastes bitter like blood, but Harry is too far gone to care. He’s pulling Louis closer, and pushing his hips up at the same time, and he’s achingly hard in his jeans and can feel Louis is as well. ‘Oh god,’ Harry pants, when Louis rips at the button of his jeans to sneak a warm hand into his underwear to rub at his naked cock, ‘you’re gonna kill me.’ 

Louis squeezes him and gasps, because he can feel that Harry starting to leak already, and his hand slides beautifully against his length, ‘not gonna kill you,’ he gets out, nosing at the collar of Harry’s shirt, damp with sweat, ‘could never kill you.’

Harry’s not sure if Louis intended him to hear that, or if he even meant to say it at all, because the words fall from him in a rush, mumbled, like it fell from his lips without thought. 

‘What?’ he asks, wriggling in Louis’ grip, the world suddenly goes still around them and time stops completely. Louis is looking up at him with a slack jaw, glassy eyes, and his hand still works Harry’s cock.

‘I could never kill you,’ he says simply, almost as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and he’s trying to get Harry to understand. But all Harry can see is white. 

‘How many people have you killed?’ He’s not sure why he’s asking it, the words just spill from his lips, it’s the heat of the moment, the burning of the sun that’s making him dizzy. His chest is getting tight again, and his hips rock and push as Louis continues to stroke him, he can’t help himself. Louis feels so good, his wet little hand working Harry over. He looks like he’s hesitating to answer, and Harry is hit with a sudden clarity that makes his head whirl, 

‘I’ve killed seven people,’ Louis answers, easily, gauging Harry’s reaction, ‘that man last night –‘ he breaks off to swallow a moan, as he rubs himself just right against Harry’s hip. Harry wonders if he’s getting off on this, ‘he was number seven.’ 

‘Shit,’ he says, the word leaving him in a gush of air, and suddenly Louis is kissing him so hard, fucking into his mouth with his tongue. Harry’s not sure if he’s trying to keep him from saying anymore, if he’s trying to make him understand, or if he’s trying to savor the last kiss between them, because he thinks Harry’s going leave. 

Harry’s honestly not sure if he will.

He’s getting closer to his orgasm, and he grunts between kisses, pushing up into Louis hand. Suddenly Louis drops to the ground on his knees and pulls Harry’s cock from his pants. He watches himself stroke a slick hand around Harry’s cock, tongue between his teeth like he wants to taste him. He fumbles with his own jeans with his left hand, and manages to pull his cock free and starts to stroke himself.

‘Gonna suck you off,’ he says, voice low and rough, looking up at Harry, but he’s not completely there in his eyes, ‘I don’t care if someone drives past. I’m gonna suck you until you come.’

And then he’s doing it, and Harry gasps when he feels the slick wetness around him, and Louis presses his lips tight and sucks hard and fast like he’s desperate for it. Harry’s legs are shaking hard as he nears his release. He fists Louis’ hair, tugging harder then he’s meant to. He’s whispers out a warning, his voice shot, and he comes down Louis’ throat and his legs almost give out. Louis licks him all up, not missing a single drop. His chin is slicked with spit when he pulls off and he keeps Harry resting against his tongue as he fucks into his own hand, suckling weakly on Harry’s softening cock like he doesn’t want it to end. And Harry’s twitching, and jerking, and whining as he shakes through it, and he slumps over himself to watch Louis get himself off, his eyes are closed, face turned up and glistening in the sun. 

He comes with a soft moan and spurts onto the dirt at his feet. He falls to rest his head on Harry’s leg when he’s done, mumbling something about rest, and he stays like that until he’s come down enough to move. He wipes his hand over his mouth to clean himself, and tucks himself back into his pants. 

Not a single soul drove past them, nothing. 

On shaky legs he goes back to the car, opens the back door to wipe his hand off on an old shirt and then moves to sit behind the wheel.

Harry’s still in a daze when he puts himself away and zips up his jeans, and he takes a long moment to stare out at the emptiness of the road, and wonders how much more of this he can take before all he can dream of is nothing but straight lines. 

Everything Louis said to him before is swimming around in his head, and the words sink like lead into his skin and he tries to shake the feeling away. Despite the inhalation of the quiet all around him, Harry feels like something is slowly choking him, like the dust had turned to sludge in his chest. His mind in weighed with memories from the previous night, the ugliness of it pinching and clawing like desperate shadows in the corners of his thoughts. 

He can still feel it, the anxiety from last night, still swirling inside him like it didn’t really go away, and he has a sudden moment of clarity. What are you doing? 

_What are you doing?_

He shivers bodily, like a cold gust had overcome him, and in the direct sunlight he isn’t warmed. 

There’s a dreaded sense of hopelessness, a sickly feeling of loss, and it’s too painful to succumb to that, to let it overwhelm him. And in the briefest moment of panic, he’s torn between running out into the open, and staying in the comfort of Louis’ shelter. But it doesn’t seem like much of a decision. 

He turns back to the car and tells himself not to think too much. Despite what he says, there is still something keeping his back rigid, the human instinct of fight or flight. He wonders briefly why he’s still here, again, trapping himself in a cage where the walls are miles and miles apart, yet so small he can barely breathe. 

Louis starts the car and pulls back onto the road. They start making their way up and up the highway, kicking up dust behind them, and Harry closes his eyes and imagines he’s flying. Louis starts humming softly again, and he smiles to himself as he suddenly remembers why. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapters :)


End file.
